


Repeat After Me

by cumberpatchcats



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Car Accidents, Established Relationship, M/M, Major Character Injury, Paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberpatchcats/pseuds/cumberpatchcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan believes that everything will be okay if he just says it will be, and he tries to impose this ridiculous philosophy onto Courfeyrac when all Courfeyrac wants is to be able to walk again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repeat After Me

The thing about Jehan and Courfeyrac was that they were inseparable. Wherever Jehan went, Courfeyrac went, and vice versa. They were hopelessly in love with each other, and despite Enjolras’s desperate wishes and prayers, it had been nearly two years and they hadn’t seemed to get past their honeymoon phase where they would _not stop touching each other_. Seriously, whenever they were together, a part of their body was always touching the other, whether it was hands clasping each other, fingers twirling around hair, legs sprawled across each other, or playing footsie under the table, and neither party seemed to ever grow tired of it.

They loved walks. Jehan loved the fresh air and the open sky and Courfeyrac loved Jehan, so things always worked out in the end. They could spend hours wandering aimlessly around the city, holding hands, either chattering to each other nonstop or savoring the peaceful silence. Then they would lay down side by side in a field, in a parking lot, in the stairwell of Jehan’s apartment, and Courfeyrac would take Jehan’s hand and kiss his knuckles and whisper “when are you going to marry me?” to which Jehan would smile and answer “when are you going to ask me properly?” And then they’d find the closest bed (usually Jehan’s) and make sweet love to each other.

Courfeyrac loved carrying his little poet. Jehan wasn’t that much shorter than him, but he had a lanky frame and thin bones that made him lighter than he looked like he should be, and it suited Courfeyrac perfectly. Jehan would fall asleep to the sound of Combeferre’s soft piano music quite easily. Half because he loved the look of Jehan’s peaceful sleeping face and half because he was a total nightmare if woken up improperly, Courfeyrac would scoop his love into his arms as carefully as possible and carry him home, totally oblivious to anyone who might stare at him walking down the street. When Jehan was awake and alert, he’d hop on Courfeyrac’s back and simply enjoy the ride, laughing the entire way no matter where they might be at the time.

\---

Jehan believed it was his fault.

He had been lonely, that’s all. Work had been stressful at his publishing company with deadlines right around the corner and he had hardly slept the past two nights spending most of the time editing.  It was dark and late and Courfeyrac was probably asleep, but Jehan couldn’t help but try.

“Courf?” he said through the phone.

“ _What’s up_?”

“What are you doing?”

“ _What are_ you _doing_?”

“Staring blankly at my wall.”

“ _Me too then. I’ll be right over, babe_.”

And Jehan smiled because Courfeyrac knew him so well.

He waited for about twenty minutes and when Courfeyrac didn’t show, he frowned and called again. There wasn’t an answer, so Courfeyrac must have been on his way.

Only, thirty minutes later, Jehan hadn’t heard a single knock on his door.

His phone rang and he nearly killed himself diving over his bed to reach it.

“Courf?”

“Sorry, no, Combeferre.”

“Oh.” Jehan tried not to sound disappointed. “What do you want?”

“Okay before I say anything, promise me you won’t freak out.”

Jehan gave a little snort. “Why would I freak out?”

It seemed like Combeferre hadn’t heard him, because he started blabbing again. “Because I swear, it wasn’t his fault-and it’s not my fault either because hell I was at work the entire time and I just found out about it because Enjolras called me and he was freaking out and I can’t stand it when Enjolras freaks out and I can’t stand it when you freak out, so please don’t freak out I can’t have both of you freaking out-oh god I’m freaking out, that’s new-,”

“Ferre, what is it?” Jehan snapped out with a rather urgent undertone. Combeferre didn’t ramble unless someone was dead or dying or threatening to die. Either way, it was never a good sign.

“Jehan, listen to me very carefully. I’m on my way to get you, okay? I’m going to be there, and Feuilly’s with me, and we’re going to get you. There was an accident. I’m so sorry, Jehan, Courfeyrac’s in the hospital.”

Jehan didn’t even notice his phone slipping out of his hand and crashing to the floor.

\---

The door burst open and three disgruntled individuals stomped through the entrance.

Enjolras lifted his head, startled by the sudden intrusion, and suddenly the room was filled with noise.

“Where is he?”

“Jehan, you can’t go in there,” Enjolras tried explaining, placing a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder as a warning.

“I have to see him.”

“You _can’t_. He’s in surgery.”

“Surgery!” Jehan shrieked, gripping at his hair like he was the one in pain. He looked ready to keel over, but Enjolras was quick to lead him to a chair, aided by Combeferre who seemed to be visibly shaking.

“He was hysterical the entire ride,” Combeferre explained. “I’m glad we picked him up—if he had driven himself he would have caused another accident.”

“Can’t blame him,” Feuilly said, taking a seat next to Jehan and rubbing small circles into his back as an attempt at comfort.

Jehan spent a full hour crying.

For the next hour after that, he paced up and down the length of the waiting room, chewing on his nails.

He ended up back in his chair some time later, elbows on his knees and face in his hands, Feuilly asleep on his shoulder, when a doctor appeared before him.

Jehan looked up to see the doctor lead Enjolras away, and he could see their mouths moving, but their words were incoherent. He saw Enjolras heave a sigh of relief, and Jehan perked his head up in hope. Halfway through the conversation, however, he saw Enjolras’s jaw tighten and his heart sank to his feet.

Enjolras’s head was jolty when he abruptly nodded to the doctor and muttered something that looked to be along the lines of “thank you” before he strode back to his friends with his teeth grit and his hands balled into fists.

Feuilly had woken up between the commotion and everyone looked at Enjolras expectantly, and his gaze traveled from Jehan to Combeferre to Feuilly and back to Jehan, where his eyes softened and his mouth twisted into a deep frown.

“They couldn’t fix his legs.”

\---

Courfeyrac was a safe driver, believe it or not.

The other car had come speeding out of nowhere, led by an obvious drunk individual, the kind of scenario you hear about all the time but never believe it could ever happen. Both vehicles flipped over, killing the other driver instantly and sending an entire car roof flying across the street onto Courfeyrac’s back, hitting his spinal cord pretty roughly and knocking him out cold. Apparently he was lucky to have made it through with just the entire fucking loss of feeling in both his fucking legs for probably the rest of his fucking life.

Courfeyrac was still pretty out of it when Jehan entered the room. There was a one visitor at a time policy, and Enjolras had suggested he be first, to help prepare Courfeyrac for Jehan’s arrival and whatnot, but Jehan looked like he wanted to punch someone and even Enjolras wasn’t about to argue with that.

A large, stitched up cut ran down the side of Courfeyrac’s face and another over the bridge of his nose. He was sporting a huge, nasty colored bruise spanning across his entire left shoulder and he was obviously experiencing the effects of anesthesia but other than that, he seemed entirely fine. Jehan stupidly allowed himself to believe that the doctor had been lying the entire time and Courfeyrac was going to make a full recovery.

Jehan dropped into a chair by the side of the bed and instantly grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand. Courfeyrac reacted slowly, turning his damaged head and staring at his boyfriend with the haziest look in his eyes. “Jean…?” he croaked as if in disbelief.

“Hey,” was the reply as Jehan forced a smile.

“Are my legs gone?”

Jehan’s face fell. “What?”

“I can’t feel my legs. Did they take them away?”

Jehan bit his lip and swallowed deep, as if it was going to keep the tears at bay. It didn’t, obviously, and he was already crying again as he let out a small laugh of disbelief. “No, baby, you still have your legs.”

“Then why can’t I feel them?”

“Ssh,” Jehan whispered quickly, reaching out to pet Courfeyrac’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“Jean-,” Courfeyrac choked out, grabbing onto Jehan’s forearm and gripping as tight as he could. Jehan saw the fear in his eyes, so he pressed his lips to Courfeyrac’s forehead and simply cooed “I know, baby. You’re going to be okay. I love you.”

\---

Jehan was not prepared for a sudden major change in life. Nobody was. Then again, Courfeyrac was probably not very well prepared to suddenly be unable to walk. He had cried, and Jehan had cried, and they had cried in each other’s arms, and then Courfeyrac was screaming and swearing at everything and everyone and all he wanted to do was kick someone in the face, but of course he couldn’t.

On the first day Courfeyrac was released from the hospital, he went home with Jehan. They sat there for a long while staring at each other, Jehan on the couch and Courfeyrac in his courtesy hospital wheelchair, before Jehan broke the silence.

“Well that settles it,” he clapped his hands together, as if trying to lighten the mood. “You’re moving in with me.”

Courfeyrac balled his hands up into fists and slammed them against the armrests of his wheelchair. “I’m _not_ your charity case, Jehan.”

The action startled Jehan, and he jumped a little before nervously playing with the ends of his braid. “I swear that’s so the opposite of my intention, Courf. I…I just thought it’d be easier for you. My apartment is on the ground floor and yours isn’t and everything and I just…we could just see each other more. And I’ve been meaning to ask you to move in for a while now but I wasn’t sure how to ask and…”

Courfeyrac softened his hands and rubbed tirelessly at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he apologized in a strained voice. “I know you didn’t mean it. I’m sorry I’m so fucking sensitive right now. I know I’m being irritating.”

“You’re not,” Jehan snapped quickly, reaching forward to firmly grab Courfeyrac’s hands. “Look at me Courf. We’re going to make this work, okay? I’m not leaving you behind, we’re going to make it work. Say it.”

“Jean-,”

“Say it, Courf.”

Courfeyrac sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes, but nodded anyways. “Okay, sure. We’re going to make it work.”

And just to seal the deal, Jehan leaned over to press his lips against Courfeyrac’s, noting his boyfriend’s subtle hesitation.

Courfeyrac thought it’d be impossible for him to get into bed, but Jehan was stronger than anyone would think, and through teamwork and nearly half an hour of trying, the deed was done.

Courfeyrac had to position his legs with his hands as Jehan slipped in beside him. He felt Jehan’s arms around him, but obviously could not feel the leg thrown over his own.

“I love you, Courf,” Jehan whispered into Courfeyrac’s hair, squeezing tight as if he’s afraid Courfeyrac is going to slip away from him at any time. “And I’m glad you’re alive.”

Courfeyrac almost wanted to spit out “I’m not,” but he held his tongue long enough to say “it’s going to be pretty impossible to have sex” instead.

Jehan frowned and buried his head into Courfeyrac’s neck. “I’m glad you have your priorities straight,” he mumbled in blatant sarcasm.

And Courfeyrac’s chest tightened because he was only really half joking.

\---

Courfeyrac spent the first week home in denial. Jehan was busy moving Courfeyrac’s things from his apartment, with the help of his friends because “dammit Jehan we’re not going to let you deal with this yourself” to which Jehan had started tearing up again and hugged every single one of them.

Courfeyrac  did not leave the bed. He did not leave to greet his friends-they came to him. He did not leave to eat-Jehan brought food on a stray. He stayed in bed and pretended he was sick and that in a week, everything would be okay.

Of course, a week later, nothing has changed.

In the morning, Courfeyrac woke up drenched in sweat because it’s still in the middle of freaking July. He was sticky and gross and in desperate need of a shower.

Jehan emerged from the bathroom just then, fresh and clean with soaking wet hair—lucky bastard could just take showers whenever he wants. He made a half-hearted attempt at drying his hair and, deciding that Courfeyrac was no longer allowed to just lay there and mope, he bent over to gently kiss Courfeyrac’s eyebrow and noted “honey, you can’t stay in bed for the rest of your life.”

“Not that I can do much else,” Courfeyrac only grumbled back.

“Why don’t you take a shower?”

“No.”

“Look, if I’m going to be sleeping next to you every night, I’d like you to be clean.”

“Then _leave_.”

The words startled Jehan and he pulled back immediately, looking a bit hurt. “Courf,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Courfeyrac groaned and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, as if he hadn’t been sleeping practically all week. “I know, Jean. I’m sorry.” There was an awkward moment of silence before he finally gave in and said “okay, yeah. Shower.”

He struggled to sit himself up, but when Jehan reached to help him, he unconsciously swatted the helpful hands away. “I can do it,” he hissed through grit teeth, pushing himself up by his elbows.

Jehan bit his lip like it was physically painful to watch.

There really wasn’t much of a choice when it came to Jehan helping Courfeyrac out of bed and of course that too was quite a struggle.

With Courfeyrac situated on the edge of the bathtub, Jehan began unbuttoning his pajama shirt, but Courfeyrac grew increasingly irritated and again smacked Jehan’s hands out of the way to unbutton his own damn shirt. “I can still use my hands you asshole,” and Courfeyrac regretted the words as soon as they leave his mouth but there was no way to take them back. One look at Jehan’s shocked expression and Courfeyrac was sighing in exasperation. “Look, sweetie, I’m okay, I can do the rest myself. Just leave me alone.”

And Jehan was stupid enough to believe him, nodding and giving Courfeyrac’s hand an affectionate squeeze before standing up and walking out, shutting the door behind him.

To celebrate Courfeyrac finally getting the hell out of bed, Jehan figured he’d make a special breakfast. Waffles and eggs with tiny pieces of bacon in them—Courfeyrac’s favorite. He tried to keep himself busy to prevent him from putting any thought to Courfeyrac’s sudden change in personality, but his mind would always wander back to the days where his boyfriend would never snap at him, never call him terrible things.

He heard the shower running for a while and was pleased with the fact that Courfeyrac had managed to at least get himself in the bath.

About ten minutes later, however, he heard a thud and a “fuck!” and then a string of swears and slurs, and Jehan was rushing to the rescue instantly.

He opened the bathroom door and gasped at the sight of Courfeyrac face down on the tile floor, wet, naked and swearing like a sailor as he tried to push himself up. He fell to his knees and was about to lift Courfeyrac up when he felt strong arms wrap around his torso.

“Courf,” he exhaled, running a hand through the dark curls on Courfeyrac’s head.

Courfeyrac kept his head buried in Jehan’s lap as he sobbed, at first silently, but then much more vocally, and there wasn’t much Jehan could do but stroke his hair.

“Cut them off, Jean,” Courfeyrac choked out. “Just cut them off, they’re completely useless and I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Ssh,” Jehan tried to comfort him. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ fucking okay!” Courfeyrac snapped, finally tearing his head from Jehan’s lap.

Jehan took Courfeyrac’s face in his hands and practically glared at him, his eyes calm and determined. “It will be. Do you understand me? Everything is going to be fine. We’re both new at this, but we’re going to get better. I love you, Courf. Say it.”

Courfeyrac sighed.

“Courf.”

“Fine,” he finally responded. “You love me.”

“That’s right,” Jehan said softly, giving Courfeyrac’s hair one last pet. “Now come on, let’s get you off the floor.”

\---

Courfeyrac woke Jehan up with a firm shake of the shoulders.

“Jehan, Jehan,” he said in a panicked and quite frankly, outright horrified voice.

His tone caused Jehan to go into a panic as well, as he jolted awake. “What, what is it?”

“My legs hurt.”

Jehan looked terrified. Courfeyrac mimicked his expression.

“I can’t feel them. I can’t fucking feel them but they fucking _hurt_ like _shit_.”

Jehan immediately disappeared and returned with two small painkillers and a glass of water.

Courfeyrac took them quickly.

When Jehan slipped into bed again, he promptly asked “is that helping?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t really helping. The pain was still there and it tore Courfeyrac up inside, but he wouldn’t mention it.

\---

On Courfeyrac’s first day of therapy, he refused to let Jehan see him.

“Just go somewhere. Catch a movie, get yogurt, I don’t care.”

“I’m staying in the waiting room.”

“And reading People magazine for two and a half hours? I don’t think so. Get out of here.”

So Jehan did catch a movie. He can’t remember which. He can’t remember what happened. He can’t remember even looking up at the screen long enough to care. He only sat there for two hours chewing on a nail and nervously wondering if they would really in fact be okay. He knew he loved Courfeyrac, in sickness and in spinal cord injury, till death do they part, but he was afraid of Courfeyrac closing in on himself and pushing Jehan away. If Courfeyrac suddenly decided Jehan wasn’t good for him, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He left immediately after the movie and promptly noted that he wasted approximately eight dollars.

When Courfeyrac appeared, Jehan looked up from where he was sitting, putting down the People magazine he had been reading (irony) and straightening his back in expectance.

“Oh God Jehan,” Courfeyrac groaned as he wheeled himself to Jehan’s side. “I told you to leave.”

“I did,” Jehan defended himself. “And then I came back.”

Courfeyrac then spied the magazine Jehan had put down and promptly picked it back up. “People? Really?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Just for you,” Jehan replied with a smile that was more genuine than it had been in two weeks.

\---

Jehan was pretty much established as Courfeyrac’s unofficial caretaker. The rehab center sent a rather dull nurse to teach Jehan how to do things properly, including how _not_ to drop Courfeyrac trying to get him into bed, as Jehan had made that mistake before and nobody ended up happy.

Every day, Jehan got ready for work, but not before helping Courfeyrac into his wheelchair, giving him a quick peck on the lips, and saying “try to get something done today.” To which Courfeyrac would reply “like what?” “Oh, I don’t know. Start a new book. Watch TV. Call Grantaire, he’ll give you something to paint.”

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “You want me to color a pretty picture to give to daddy when he gets home from work?”

“That’s creepy Courf, I don’t blow my father, ” Jehan scoffed, but he gave his boyfriend another affectionate kiss before heading off.

And just like that, Courfeyrac was left alone. Day after day after day.

One afternoon Jehan returned home to find Courfeyrac in a crumpled heap in the corner of the sitting room in front of his wheelchair. He nearly shrieked as he ran over and lifted Courfeyrac up.

“Jean,” Courfeyrac croaked like he hadn’t had water all day.

“How long have you been like that?” Jehan inquired, sitting his boyfriend up and guiding him back into his chair.

“Uh, a couple hours?”

“Jesus Christ!” Jehan gasped.

“I got bored,” Courfeyrac tried to explain. “And angry. And irritated, I don’t know. I just…I wanted to try standing up. And well, the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

Jehan dropped to his knees and took Courfeyrac’s face in his hands. “Don’t you dare do that again. You could have gotten hurt. Promise me.”

“Okay I’m sorry-,”

“Promise me, Courf.”

Courfeyrac heaved a sigh and grabbed Jehan’s wrists. “Yeah. I promise.”

\---

Courfeyrac awoke to the sound of soft crying in the middle of the night. “Hey,” he whispered, gently shaking Jehan’s shoulder. “baby what’s up?”

Jehan’s response was to turn around and draw himself into Courfeyrac’s chest, his sobs becoming more vocal. “I’m sorry, Courf. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Courfeyrac tried to comfort him, running his fingers through long golden locks of hair.

“It’s all my fault,” Jehan groaned, burying his face into Courfeyrac’s chest.

Courfeyrac frowned deeply. “Don’t you say that.”

“It is,” Jehan tried to reason. “I shouldn’t have called you. You shouldn’t have left your house. It was late and dark and you were probably still half asleep and I-,”

Courfeyrac shut him up with a kiss. Then he lifted Jehan’s chin so they could face each other eye to eye. “You listen to me, beautiful Jean Prouvaire, none of this was your fault. If I was going to be angry at anybody, I’d be angry at the guy that fucking hit me, but he’s dead and there’s nothing we can do. Understand?”

Jehan nodded, but he didn’t seem very convinced, so Courfeyrac kissed him again. And again. And then they were making out frantically with Jehan straddled on top and smashing his lips onto Courfeyrac’s frantically.

When Jehan’s hands reached beneath Courfeyrac’s shirt, sliding the material up as he touched bare skin, Courfeyrac grabbed Jehan’s wrists and stopped him.

“No, Jean,” Courfeyrac whispered against Jehan’s lips.

“We could try,” was Jehan’s reply.

Courfeyrac only shook his head. “Not tonight.”

\---

Being around friends annoyed Courfeyrac all of a sudden. They didn’t understand him. He looked at him funny, like they pitied him. Courfeyrac hated being pitied.

Jehan would drag Courfeyrac to the café because “social interaction is healthy, Courf, I’m not going to let you become a hermit,” and Courfeyrac would whine and groan refuse, but he always ended up there anyways.

Joly treated him like he was always on the verge of death—he treated everyone like they were on the verge of death, but still. Feuilly seemed to forget that Courfeyrac could push himself around and always ended up taking Courfeyrac everywhere he didn’t want to go. Combeferre looked afraid to even touch him, as if Courfeyrac would shatter into a million pieces if he tried. Enjolras seemed to be the sole character that treated Courfeyrac completely normally. Wheelchair be damned, he could still debate and yell and write things down and by this time his upper muscles had become so strong he was almost an even match for Bahorel when it came to arm wrestling.

There was a riot planned, another protest against the signing of a law that would wipe out nearly every abortion clinic in the state, and Enjolras wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jehan spoke up. “I mean, you guys go ahead, but I really don’t think Courfeyrac should be at a protest.”

“And why not?” Courfeyrac was suddenly defensive.

Jehan stuttered for a moment, taken aback by Courfeyrac’s sudden attitude change. “I-I mean, what if it gets violent?”

“You think I can’t defend myself?”

“I _know_ you can’t defend yourself,” Jehan responded firmly. “Because when you fall, you can’t get back up, and it’s dangerous. You could be trampled or beaten, killed even before I have the chance to grab you.”

“I’m going,” was Courfeyrac’s determined reply.

Jehan sighed. “Courf, you can’t.”

“I will.”

“Would you stop being so stubborn long enough to realize that this whole I-can-do-it-by-myself stunt you’re trying to pull isn’t working?”

“Well I can do it,” Courfeyrac began to yell. “I’m not a fucking vegetable, you know.”

“Why are you being so difficult today?” Jehan questioned with equal volume.

“Well if I’m so difficult, why don’t you just leave? Then you wouldn’t have to deal with all this difficulty every fucking day!”

The question brought silence upon the entire room. Jehan took a step backwards as if it blew his mind that Courfeyrac would ever think something like that.

“Courf,” he breathed, but Courfeyrac wasn’t done.

“I see it in your eyes, Jehan, you’re exhausted. Day after day, picking up after your boyfriend because he can’t even fucking piss by himself, and you’re sick of it, I know you are. So you can just go and leave me and find someone else who can actually stand up to kiss you and you won’t have to worry about driving me everywhere or tucking me into bed like a child or getting me out of the shower because I can’t fucking do anything myself, because I’m useless, I’m a useless human being and I’m a useless boyfriend, and the only reason you’re standing here right now is because you feel sorry for me!”

Jehan bit his lip and stared down at his feet. After a pause, he looked back up at Courfeyrac, his eyes sad. “Is that what you think?”

Courfeyrac shrugged.

“Because it’s bullshit,” Jehan continued. “I’m standing here because I love you, and I’ve been in love with you since day one and I’ll be in love with you until we’re both old and wrinkled and by then we’ll probably _both_ be in wheelchairs. I’m going to die with you, Courfeyrac. The moment you breathe your last breath, I’ll breathe mine, because I can’t live without you and you should know that. So say it to my face again, Courf. Say that I’m only here because I feel sorry for you. And then tell me you don’t love me back since you seem to be in _such_ a lying mood lately.”

Courfeyrac looked Jehan in the eyes and spit out “I _don’t_ love you.”

And Jehan was suddenly in hysterics, falling at Courfeyrac’s feet and banging on his chest, hitting him over and over and screaming out “liar, you’re a liar! You’re _lying_!”

Combeferre was quick to pull Jehan away, separating the wayward couple. “Jehan,” he warned, keeping a firm grip on Jehan’s shoulder. “Why don’t we take a little walk?”

He left the café with Jehan with the promise of returning, leaving Courfeyrac to deal with everybody else.

Enjolras was the one to take a seat across from Courfeyrac and stare at him seriously, his eyes practically stone. “Why did you do that?”

Courfeyrac turned his head to the side, as if he couldn’t look Enjolras in the face.

“Courfeyrac, talk to me.” Enjolras grabbed his friend’s face and forced their eyes to meet. “Why did you deliberately  try to drive him away?”

Courfeyrac scoffed at him. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

Enjolras sits up straight in his chair, his face twisting into an expression of confusion.

“I wake up every morning and I want to make him coffee but I can’t get out of bed without him. He puts me to bed and then stays up late to finish up work, and he falls asleep on the couch, and I want to pick him up and bring him back to bed with me but I’ll never be able to do that ever again. And I wasn’t lying when I said he looks exhausted. He is, I know he is, but he never says anything because he’s too good, and he’s too good for me and I can’t do anything back for him as long as I’m stuck in this _stupid chair_.  I don’t even care about my legs anymore, Enj. I’m done feeling sorry for myself and dreaming about what could have been, all I want is for Jehan to be happy—and I can’t give him that.”

Enjolras remained silent for a long while, staring at the ground before nodding once and looking back at his friend. “Courfeyrac. You love him.” It wasn’t a question.

Courfeyrac answered anyways. “Yeah.”

“And he loves you too. He said so.”

“That may be, but there’s no point in loving anybody if it’s just going to make you miserable the rest of your life.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras shrugged. “But maybe the point is that it doesn’t matter if there’s a point or not. When you love someone as strongly as you and Jehan love each other, no matter how miserable they make you, you know in your heart you’d be ten times as miserable without them, so you suffer through the pain and agony.”

And maybe Courfeyrac almost flashed a smile. “You speaking from experience, O’fearless leader?”

Enjolras stuttered and muttered something unintelligible, but he wasn’t able to form a coherent rebuttal when the doors of the café swung open again and Combeferre strolled in, Jehan hooked around an arm.

Courfeyrac inhaled slowly as Jehan and Combeferre parted ways, the elder patting Jehan’s head affectionately and saying “okay now?” to which Jehan smoothed out his hair and glared at Combeferre, but nodded anyways.

When Jehan approached Courfeyrac, they both opened their mouths at the same time.

“Look, I just,” their synchronized voices startled each other.

“I wanted to-,”

“You go first.” With their vocal chords so easily matched, they could both tell this wasn’t going to work out.

Jehan clapped a hand over Courfeyrac’s mouth to prevent him from speaking. “I’m sorry,” he apologized with more sincerity in his voice than Courfeyrac had ever heard in his life. “I know this whole thing has been hard on you and I know you want things to just go back to the way they were, and god knows I wish that too, but it can’t, and we can’t turn back the clock, so we can’t do anything but move on with our lives. We need to stop lamenting about the past and think about our futures and I…I just really want to spend mine with you. If you’d let me.”

When he removed his hand from Courfeyrac’s mouth, Courfeyrac's lips were already turned up into a huge dorky grin that he always used to wear, and it sent a rush of familiarity down Jehan’s spine, which was nice considering the fact that he practically had to turn his whole world upside down those past few months. 

And all Courfeyrac said was “baby you took the words right out of my mouth.”

Jehan responded by instantly hopping into Courfeyrac’s lap—wheelchair be damned—and kissing the love of his life as deeply as he possibly could.

Courfeyrac couldn’t complain.

As it turned out, Courfeyrac didn’t need his legs to carry Jehan around. He spent a good half of the evening speeding down the sidewalk with Jehan in his lap, which probably wasn’t very safe, and it certainly earned him a million stares, but he couldn’t give a crap because he was laughing and Jehan was laughing and they were so, so in love.

And when they reached the door, Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, kissed his eyebrow, and joked “guess it sucks I’m never going to be able to propose to you properly like you’ve always wanted.”

Jehan grabbed the back of Courfeyrac’s head and pulled him into another passionate kiss that left them both a bit starry eyed. “I guess I’ll have to do it, then.”

“What are you saying-,” but before he could even register what’s happening, Jehan was slipping off of Courfeyrac’s lap, where he fell before the love of his life on one knee.

“Courfeyrac,” he began.

And Courfeyrac couldn’t do anything but breathe out “ _Jean_.”

\---

They kissed slowly, lazily, silent save for the sound of lips smacking against lips. Courfeyrac reached up to tangle his hands in blond hair, pulling Jehan closer to him.

Jehan hummed happily against Courfeyrac’s mouth, inhaling the scent of everything that was him as if he’d suddenly smell any differently tomorrow.

“I love you,” Jehan whispered as he exhaled into his lover’s mouth.

Courfeyrac took Jehan’s face in his hands, their eyes locked on each other. “I’m no good for you.”

Jehan frowned and gripped Courfeyrac’s wrists. “You listen to me, you stupid, stupid boy. I love you. I don’t know how many times I have to say it before you believe me, but I love you, and you are very, very good for me. Say it.”

All Courfeyrac wanted to do was kiss him again, but when he tried, Jehan pulled away.

Jehan was definitely not playing around. “Just say it, Courf.”

So Courfeyrac gave up and gave Jehan’s cheek a tender stroke.

“Okay yeah, I’m good for you.”

Jehan grinned and gave his love a quick peck on the lips. “That’s the spirit.”


End file.
